Officials remember events of Sept. 11, 2001

Editor’s Note: These remembrances, which have been edited lightly for clarity, were originally published on Sept. 11, 2011, the 10th anniversary of 9/11.

On Sept. 11, 2001, State Sen. Edna Brown, then a Toledo City Councilwoman, was going to celebrate her grandson’s 10th birthday.

Edna Brown

Brown, Lucas County Commissioner Pete Gerken (then Councilman) and Lucas County Commissioner Tina Skeldon Wozniak (then Councilwoman) were all up for re-election in a primary that day.

Former Gov. Bob Taft was driving to work with a state trooper while Gov. John Kasich had been on a corporate conference call since 4 a.m.

“I remember how blue the sky was, how bright the sun was,” said former Toledo Mayor Mike Bell, then the city’s fire chief.

And then terrorists flew a plane into the World Trade Center. It was no longer just a primary, just a beautiful day, just a birthday, just a Tuesday. It was 9/11.

Like so many others, Gerken turned on the TV.

“I thought I had the movie channel on and not the news,” he said.

“It was one of those things, you want to make sure where everyone was but you’re also fixated on watching,” said U.S. Rep Bob Latta, then an Ohio representative.

Gerken immediately called his son, who was in Washington, D.C., during the attacks, while current Lucas County Commissioner Carol Contrada’s daughter called from Vermont to inform her of the events.

“We watched the event unfold together on the phone, consoling each other,” said Contrada, an attorney.

Carol Contrada

Wozniak, along with a campaign worker for her opponent and a woman neither had met before, bonded while huddling around a TV. Wozniak and the worker were campaigning at a Washington Local school when “a woman across the street called, ‘Would you like to see what’s happening?’” The pair went into the woman’s home to watch the news coverage on her TV.

“There were no barriers, no differences. We basically bonded,” Wozniak said.

Safety officials

Meanwhile, then-Mayor Carty Finkbeiner called safety officials Bell, Lucas County Sheriff James Telb and Toledo Police Chief Mike Navarre to his office to develop a plan. Telb remembered being told not to worry about overtime and extra personnel.

Finkbeiner said his two main concerns were keeping Muslims and foreign residents safe from retaliation as well as keeping city locations like the water treatment center, The University of Toledo and The Toledo Museum of Art secure.

“That led to decade-long intensive planning. And that’s what we’ve been doing ever since,” Telb said.

In addition to getting grants for new equipment, Lucas County and surrounding counties have gained access to a radio system that allows all responders to be on one channel in case of an attack, Telb said, adding, “It’s still state of the art. People still want to match it.”

Mike Bell

Police and hospital officials also began talking to each other to develop plans in case of future attacks. Before 9/11, “Nobody ever talked to the hospital. No one in law enforcement did that,” Telb said.

Bell was subsequently appointed chairman of the Joint Regional Terrorism Task Force, which included about 30 officials from surrounding counties and parts of Michigan. Following the attacks, people frequently reported low-flying planes that were just checking on power lines, in addition to anthrax scares.

Bell sent 12 firefighters to New York City to help, while the Toledo City Police sent six officers and the Sheriff’s Office sent five officers.

“It actually shocked them and these were some pretty tough people,” Bell said of the firefighters he sent to Ground Zero.

Kasich told Toledo Free Press he went to Ground Zero on Sept. 20, 2001, as part of his show “Heroes” on FOX News Channel. He recalled the eerie quietness and observing searchers: “They had big, long sound detectors. They’d make their way across the site, listening for people who had been trapped.”

One man, a retired fire chief, had been at the site every day since the attack because he believed his two sons were caught in the rubble.

John Kasich

“He looked at me and said, ‘My boys are going to come out of there.’ And, of course, in terms of probability, they wouldn’t,” Kasich said. Kasich’s New York office with Lehman Brothers was destroyed in the attacks, although Kasich said he didn’t spend a lot of time there.

Kasich said the death of his parents, killed by a drunken driver in 1987, helped him relate to victims’ families.

“I myself have been in a situation where I’ve experienced that black hole of sudden death,” he said. “While I understand it may not be exactly the same, I can relate to them.”

In Columbus

Taft said he continued to work at the Riffe State Office Tower in Columbus that day.

“I wanted to get into the office, follow the events and do what needed to be done,” Taft told Toledo Free Press.

He didn’t recall any communication from Washington, D.C., on Sept. 11, 2001, but figured an attack on Ohio was unlikely.

“Most of the news was coming from the media,” Taft said. “I think they were still trying to figure it out in Washington.”

The next day, Taft did hear from the White House about 9/11.

He said he continued to hear about the events of that day for the rest of his term.

“No single event while I was governor was more powerful,” Taft said.

After learning of the attacks during an early meeting, then-Lucas County Commissioner Sandy Isenberg sent nonessential county workers home. Isenberg and Finkbeiner held a press conference with officials on the steps of One Government Center.

“If you’ve got a picture of the newsreel, I was up there crying, trying to keep a calm demeanor,” Isenberg said.

Finkbeiner did not send city officials home and continued to hold meetings and conferences throughout the week, he said.

The primary elections also stayed open that day, in what Gerken called “the best way to keep democratic values alive.”

The attacks, including a third plane flown into the Pentagon and a fourth that passengers took over and crashed into a Pennsylvania field, changed not only government policy, but also politicians’ personal views.

“It’s a game-changer when something like that happens. It resets your thinking,” said Rep. Barbara Sears, then a Sylvania city councilwoman.

Former Lucas County Recorder Jeanine Perry, then a representative, recalled a state trooper checking her and about four fellow representatives’ bags following the attacks. The trooper leaned over State Sen. Shirley Smith’s (then representative) large bag and she yelled, “BOO!” causing the trooper to jump back. Instead of getting angry, “he laughed, and we laughed and that was the first time in weeks that we laughed. It just changed the atmosphere and environment,” Perry said.

Barbara Sears

‘This was real’

Toledo Mayor D. Michael Collins, then a Toledo City Councilman, was a visiting professor at the University of Toledo with a class and office hours scheduled that day.

“My first impression about Sept. 11, 2001, as I got on my office computer, was that it was a hoax, similar to H.G. Wells’ ‘War of the Worlds,’” he wrote in a 2011 column for Toledo Free Press. “I then realized this was real, as New York and Washington, D.C., were victimized by the insidious series of events.

“When I heard of the commercial flight westbound, just over Pennsylvania, my first thought was fear. Was it going to strike Davis-Besse and expose 20 percent of the world’s freshwater to nuclear radiation? The somber realization that thousands were dead and not knowing how many attacks could still take place replaced the momentary feeling of fear.

“By mid-day, all individuals who were not considered critical to the university’s ability to function were directed to leave the campus immediately — I was exiting the health and human services building and going to my car, when I observed a young female student wearing a hijab, crying and shaking in the doorway.

“I drove off, but as I approached Dorr Street, I thought about my failure to come to her aid. I turned back to look for her, but she was not to be found. The guilt still remains and I hope someday I will have the opportunity to apologize for my failure to respond in a manner consistent with my core values.

Never the same

The aftermath of the attacks “probably will be with us until the end of light on this earth,” Finkbeiner said.

To commemorate the attacks, he said he will likely visit those steps he spent so much time on at One Government Center “to remember how we all came together.”

Mayor D. Michael Collins

“The tragic events of Sept. 11, 2001 instantly altered life in the United States,” Collins wrote. “To say that our freedoms have been changed would be an understatement. One example would be one’s experience at an airport pre-Sept. 11 compared to today. Would today’s security measures have been tolerated then, from a legal or social standpoint? The answer is academically and resoundingly no!

“Our world has shrunk and with this tragic event, the life we enjoyed pre-9/11 will never return.”

After the polls were closed that day and the campaign was over, Brown went to see her grandson.

“I did go by to see my grandson and he was puzzled and wanted to know why it happened on his birthday,” she said.

While many things changed that day, some things remain the same as life continues on.

Brown said of her Sept. 11 plans in 2011, “My grandson, of course, is older but I will celebrate his birthday with him.”

Victims advocate Simpson remembered as compassionate

One word that comes up frequently when friends and family discuss Russ Simpson, a longtime advocate for crime victims who died March 12, is compassion.

“[Russ] had more compassion and sympathy for people than anybody you know,” said Russ’ wife Pat. “He was a strong, caring, giving man.”

Former Lucas County Sheriff and Russ’ longtime friend James Telb said, “He had some issues with the way victims were being treated, by law enforcement, by the court, by the prosecutor and by the social agencies, and he wanted to get some help and he wanted his voice heard. He wanted to bring compassion.

“The concern and the compassion is not going to go away that he instilled in the folks of the criminal justice system.”

Russ, 78, died after having a heart attack at his home. He was expected to undergo open-heart surgery March 14. He had recently received word that his son David Simpson, who was battling terminal cancer, was not doing well. David died March 18, the day of Russ’ funeral.

Two of Russ’ other children had been murdered in separate incidents. Stacy, 4, was strangled to death by a neighbor in 1969 and Scott, a 19-year-old security guard, was shot trying to stop a shoplifter in 1981.

“I think it just broke [Russ’] heart to lose another child and I don’t think he could take that,” Pat said.

The couple, who has four grandchildren, would have been married 55 years on March 29. They met at Libbey High School.

Starting POMC

Russ Simpson

Russ and Pat started the local chapter of Parents of Murdered Children (POMC) in 1983.

“Just helping other people get through their grief was really a big part of my father. I really believe that was his therapy,” said his daughter Linda Simpson.

Russ was instrumental in starting the Lucas County Victim/Witness Assistance program and was a facilitator for the Office of Victims Services with the Ohio Department of Rehabilitation and Corrections. He also served as chair and state coordinator of the National Board of POMC, helping to start the founding of chapters in Indiana, Florida and Utah.

In addition to his work for victims’ rights, Russ drove for Greyhound Lines for more 20 years, before retiring in 1990. He also helped out at the Eleanor Kahle Senior Center.

Lynn Carder, executive director of Lucas County Victim/Witness Assistance, said Russ often went to schools to speak for the Victims’ Forum Program: Reaching Youth to Prevent Violence.

“Kids just absolutely hung on every word when he would speak,” she said.

Russ also worked with the Victim Offender Dialogue program, which gives victims a chance to speak to perpetrators.

Carder said that Russ was helping a victim’s family get information they needed when he died.

“In recent years, he was becoming more of an activist. He was looking at things from a legislative standpoint,” Carder said. “He had seen families be put out of the court systems, and the justice system doesn’t always work the way you want.”

‘Very intense’

After becoming sheriff in 1985, Telb said, he and Russ became reacquainted. The two had grown up near each other and both attended Libbey although Russ was a little older than Telb.

“He was very intense. I knew him for 50 years, and he wasn’t always that intense. He was kind of a happy-go-lucky guy as a young guy, growing up,” Telb recalled.

“When I became sheriff we kind of merged a little back into our old friendships,” he said. “We talked about what programs he was involved in and if there was anything the Sheriff’s Office could do to help out and we bonded real quickly and the rest is kind of history.

“He convinced us we weren’t doing what we were supposed to do in regards to our approach to victims,” Telb said. “The way we approached victims was changed forever.”

Telb said Russ was a frequent presence in the courthouse, making sure he was there for victims.

One of those victims was Gabe Burgete, who now leads the local POMC chapter. Burgete’s son General Hurst was shot and killed in 2006.

“[Russ] knew how to talk to me. He knew how to let me get my anger out and he talked to me as he knew what he was doing and he comforted me and my son’s mother,” Burgete said, adding that David would also sit with him in court.

Russ encouraged Burgete to become chapter leader and coached him along the way.

“He explained everything to me and he was always there for me, whether it was good or bad. He knew how to listen to people; he knew how to comfort people.”

Leslie Robinson, whose son Dionious Robinson died after being shot in 2005, said he also plans to continue Russ’ work. Robinson joined POMC about a year after his son’s death.

“I was very angry, very angry. I didn’t feel that I had justice. I didn’t have justice. And there was this race issue that I had and I felt black-on-black crime was treated differently and Russ was one of the first ones to say, ‘You’re absolutely right,’” Robinson said.

The two men became so close they called each other “Brother” and Robinson was a pallbearer at Russ’ funeral. Robinson now runs his own advocacy group called Equal Justice for All.

‘A long road’

“[Victims’ rights] still has a long road but it’s a road that’s now moving forward because of [Russ]. I know I’m still moving forward because of him,” Robinson said.

Linda remembers a different side of Russ — she remembers a father.

Russ loved to travel, bowl and fish, she said. He was also an avid cardplayer.

“Till the day he died, he sat there at the kitchen table and played solitaire,” she said.

“Even though he was a Greyhound bus driver on the road, he was still involved. With my brother when he played basketball, he still went to all his games and when I played CYO (Catholic Youth Organization) softball as a kid, he would come to my games.”

She added, “The best times that I would remember is when he would come home at midnight and we would sit there at the kitchen table and play gin rummy.”

The local POMC chapter is having a motorcycle run on April 21 at Toledo Speedway to kick off National Crime Victims’ Rights Week. Registration is 9-11:45 a.m. and the bikes leave on their 65-mile journey at noon. There will also be food and raffle prizes. Tickets are $20 per rider, $10 per passenger, $5 for ages 6-14 and those younger than 6 get in for free. For more information, call (419) 309-7759.

Sheriff Tharp: ‘It’s more than just making an arrest’

The new Lucas County sheriff isn’t afraid to arrest and book bad people. He believes in aggressively pursuing criminals — both teens and adults. He believes some people should never be released.

But John Tharp does not believe that strategy alone will curb crime.

Crime-fighting starts with crime prevention. It involves working with children who are struggling with learning or behavioral disabilities, he said. These young people feel ostracized. They can’t keep up in school; they feel defeated. So they start acting out in little ways, then big ways and finally in ways that affect everyone in society.

Tharp is as much an enforcer as he is an educator. In addition to an associate degree in law enforcement technology, he has bachelor’s and master’s degrees in education from the University of Toledo. He specialized in behavioral and learning disabilities.

“Education is a good fit for law enforcement. All of my friends were doing administrative degrees wanting to be police chiefs. I had no intention of being a police chief — or sheriff,” he said.

“I liked working with at-risk kids, gang members, hoodlums, thugs and young people who were going down the wrong path. I thought there has to be a better way for these kids. I kept thinking if I had more information about them, I could deal with them a little easier. I thought the wave of the future would be law enforcement interfacing more with youth, which turned out to be true.”

Tharp built his 40-year career on that philosophy and is now bringing those ideals, along with others, into his newly elected position as Lucas County sheriff. He replaces longtime Sheriff James Telb, who retired.

“The sheriff really has to be open to suggestions,” Tharp said Jan. 9, his third day on the job. “As sheriff, I don’t have all the answers.”

The 64-year-old intends to run an open administration. He wants to be visible so his 500-plus employees are comfortable giving him recommendations.

“Our administration needs to be coming in on nights to meet with correction officers and deputies,” he said. “We need to be out at the road patrols saying hello. We need to encourage our staff to step up and be men and women for others. It is more than just making an arrest; we have to look at the big picture.”

Not playing cops and robbers

Tharp said he wasn’t thinking about the big picture, let alone law enforcement, when he was growing up in West Virginia. He actually wanted to be a farmer.

“My dad died when I was super young, so young I didn’t even know him, and there were farmers who I liked and idolized,” Tharp said.

His dreams shifted when his mother, a registered nurse, moved the family to Toledo. They lived next to Libbey High School, where Tharp played football and wrestled.

It was at Libbey that he started to think about law enforcement. He had friends who had older brothers in the career; however, his mother couldn’t afford college raising four children, and the GI Bill ended up paying for his three degrees.

Lucas County Sheriff John Tharp

“Everything I did in the military was so disciplined and everything in Vietnam was so violent,” he said. “As a combat medic, you are with the troops and taking fire at the same time they are taking fire. It is being there for them and not leaving.”

Tharp plans to apply some of those wartime lessons to being sheriff.

“The sheriff needs to be engaged, the sheriff needs to be present and stepping forward and making recommendations. And if something is going the wrong way, the sheriff must, must straighten it back up.”

When he returned from Vietnam, his friends said, “You need to find Jim Telb because he is a cop and drug agent.”

Tharp took Telb’s law enforcement technology program at UT, while working nights at a factory. He started at the Toledo Police Department (TPD) in 1972 with many of his years spent on the drug unit and homicide squad.

Oregon Police Chief Mike Navarre worked with Tharp back then. Navarre became TPD chief in 1998, one year after Tharp left to work at the sheriff’s office.

“John was always an excellent investigator. He was well-liked by his colleagues because he was helpful,” Navarre said. “He has a lot of people skills. I think that is what is going to help him succeed as the sheriff.”

Tharp is respected for his experience and collaborative nature as well.

“I have nothing but great things to say about John and we will be working on collaborative things in the future as he takes the office of sheriff,” said Toledo Police Chief Derrick Diggs.

One of Tharp’s greatest partnerships was with the local schools back in the mid ’80s and early ’90s. For nine months, he served as a consultant to Toledo Public Schools. A grant paid for him to make recommendations on how to safeguard the school from drugs and gang activities.

When the grant ended, the schools wanted him to continue. It was at this time that TPD came up with the idea of school resource officers. Tharp had to convince some school administrators that it was a good idea. Back then, cops in schools were taboo.

“If I had my choice, I would have an officer in every school and it wouldn’t have to be paid for by the school system,” Tharp said. “It is something we should be doing. Law enforcement agents need to be around schools in the morning and around 3 p.m. That is when crimes are happening that involve young kids.”

Becoming sheriff

In 1997, Tharp had finished his master’s and had 25 years in at TPD when Telb asked about his retirement plans. Tharp thought he might teach, “unless you have something for me,” he joked.

Telb told him there would be an opening in 60 days.

Tharp became a major in the sheriff’s office, and continued mentoring youth, even working with young people who were skipping school, per principals’ requests.

“I would rouse them out of bed and take them to school. Their guardians had no problems with me coming into the house.”

The deputies also adopted Ella P. Stewart Academy.

“We will read to the younger ones; we will do anything that we need to do to make life better for them,” Tharp said. “If they are going to the library and don’t have enough money for busing, we will escort them to the library.”

Teresa Quinn, principal at Stewart Academy, appreciates Tharp’s support, in particular providing deputies at dismissal. Plus, the students love the new sheriff.

“We were just having a conversation about having a small assembly with him and the children,” Quinn said.

Phyllis “Sam” Tharp said her husband is passionate and dedicated. She remembers when he coached underprivileged students. The only requirement was that the truant students go to school.

The whole family — sons John and Andrew and daughter Kati — supported his bid for sheriff, she said. And the family is growing as Tharp is about to become a first-time grandfather in the same month he became sheriff.

“It just seemed like a natural flow,” Tharp said. “It wasn’t anything that I had planned. I didn’t come here to be a sheriff.

“I came here to work within the community. I came here to do whatever I could do to help others. I came here to help Sheriff Telb.”

That’s not to say he minded running unopposed.

“Probably no one else wanted the job,” he said with a chuckle.

But he wanted it, and he is tackling one of his biggest challenges already — the budget.

“One thing we started already, just a couple of days ago, was job sharing,” Tharp said. We have to reallocate our manpower to put [employees] where we need them at the busy times. If they are slow at a particular time, they need to be moved and need to be placed in a different location.”

Pat Mangold, president of UAW Local 3056, which represents employees of the sheriff’s department, said employees are excited about the new sheriff. They are looking forward to the implementation of an efficiency analysis. The study addresses different ways to manage inmates’ behavior and much-needed maintenance issues at the aging Lucas County jails.

“We think there are going to be some positive changes,” Mangold said.

Another of those changes could be a renewed battle on gang activity, a growing problem in the county. Fortunately, Tharp has experience from serving on a TPD gang task force.

“We would bust up the gangs, arrest them, book them and let them know we were there. We were taking guns off the street. We were taking murderers off the street,” he said.

But due to budget constraints, the task force folded, and the

gangs reappeared.

“We have to have the manpower to address it,” Tharp said. “I am still in the old-school way of thinking, we have to get out there with the gang members, interface with the gang members and work with the ones who we can get out of gangs.”

Yet for those gang members who continue to commit crimes, the tough guy Tharp re-emerges. Some people deserve to be put away, he said.

“We have to go after them, we have to arrest them, we have to book them. We can’t let them slide. We have to be aggressive.”

When county budgets shrink, prosecutors and sheriffs can count on at least one source of money: the Furtherance of Justice Fund (FOJ). But by autumn, they may no longer be able to depend on unfettered access to that cash.

The FOJ is funded by local tax revenue. Officials are free to use the allowance how ever they choose as long as they deem their purchases necessary to perform official duties and “further justice,” according to the relevant statute.

The officials have extensive discretion as to what constitutes furthering justice. The state auditor’s office has a list of permissible purchases but the guidelines are broad. The list includes witness expenses, mileage coverage during official business, meals, mementos and retirement gifts, law books, training, office equipment, courtroom expenses and a few others. The statute, last modified in the ’90s, is vague, said William Owen, chief legal counsel for the Ohio Auditor’s Office.

For some, “furthering justice” means paying for employee training or law books, office supplies or undercover operations. For others, it means paying for luncheons or promotional items. In one case, former Ottawa County Sheriff Bob Bratton used the fund to pay for his clothes, haircuts and Cedar Point tickets.

State Auditor Dave Yost is examining the validity of using the money for charitable donations, employee lunches and promotional items. He will commence meetings with the Buckeye State Sheriffs’ Association and the Ohio Prosecuting Attorneys Association to discuss new parameters in the coming weeks. Owen said the goal is to put together a bulletin about the changes by fall.

Vague and wide open

Some within the Prosecuting Attorneys Association are not happy.

“It’s vague and wide open and I would prefer to keep it that way,” said John Murphy, executive director of the association. “The prosecutor is an elected official and is responsible for what he’s doing and if he’s not using the money properly he can be thrown out of office.”

Julia Bates

Lucas County Prosecutor Julia Bates said it would be impossible to make a list of every possible expense that a prosecutor could defend as furthering justice.

“They want to control everything,” she said. “The buzz comes from when someone does something crazy. You take an oath, you get elected; if the public thinks you are not doing your job because you bought the grand jurors’ coffee with the FOJ fund then they can throw you out of office.”

Bates uses much of her $59,331.50 FOJ fund for supplies, newspaper subscriptions, books, training, member dues and caring for witnesses. This might include buying clothes for a witness if he or she does not have anything nice to wear to court, or covering the transit fees and hotel costs for experts that take the stand, said John Borell, assistant prosecutor.

Bates said her office spends some of the FOJ fund on plaques or awards for employee recognition. Lunch expenses totaled $785.45 in 2011.

As for the coffee? The amount spent to keep jurors and staff caffeinated during 2011 totaled $3,628.47. Bates’ bill also lists $1,374.90 worth of flowers.

“We’ve had a lot of deaths — not only employees, but employees’ husbands, a kid, brothers, really a lot. And we have six pregnant women here right now; so we use the flowers only for that purpose, for a funeral or a birth,” Bates said. “You might think, ‘Oh, does everyone have an orchid sitting on their counters?’ No. But it’s a way of saying, from our office, ‘We’re sorry.’”

Paying for items with FOJ money is quick and easy. Jeff Grey, president of the Buckeye Sheriff Association likened the fund to a personal checking account. Lucas County Sheriff James Telb said securing money from the annual budget could take up to three or four days, compared to the immediate checks he and his assistant can write from the FOJ fund.

Telb said the benefit of his FOJ fund, which totals $44,595, is that he can write a check for quick cash. This comes in handy, for example, when an undercover operation requires an informant to buy drugs. Telb’s office also uses the fund for training, equipment, informant compensation, dues and supplies.

The fund also paid $356.30 to replace inmates’ lost property in 2011. Sometimes inmates’ personal belongings get misplaced when they are taken into custody, Telb said.

The fund also covered $1,020.60 worth of lunches that year.

“The only time we do a lunch is if we’re at a meeting somewhere out of town and we reimburse individuals that bring their receipts back,” Telb said.

Some of these instances include lunch meetings with the Wood County Sheriff’s Office, lunch during terrorism training activities and trips to Tony Packo’s to discuss homeland security, according to the expense report.

Budget holes

James Telb

Both the sheriff’s office and the prosecutor’s office have had to use their FOJ funds to fill in general budget holes. Owen said the FOJ fund was intended to aid criminal investigations and that offices must always use their initial budgets for items like supplies if they already have a line item designated for that purpose.

The problem is that shrinking county budgets have pushed prosecutors and sheriffs to use the FOJ fund to cover supplies like pens and paper, Murphy said. Regardless of county tax revenue, the state mandates that county commissioners make the FOJ fund available each year. If the prosecutor or sheriff does not use up the whole amount by the end of the year, they have to give it back to the county. Because the statute sets the FOJ at half of the official’s salary, the amount can change if the official’s salary does.

Bates’ office has lost $680,000 since 2008 in salary allocations alone.

Her supplies budget has been cut by $20,000, her postage line shrunk from $23,000 to $20,000 and her contract repairs budget shrunk from $12,000 to $3,000. Her training budget was $4,354 in 2006. Now, it is $0.

The county’s funds have plummeted as sales tax and real estate tax revenue have dropped, as investment income has dropped and as the governor’s local government fund has been slashed.

Telb has experienced a similar squeeze. Budget cuts forced his office to lay off 30 employees a few years ago, although retirements have allowed his office to bring most of the laid-off employees back, he said.

Telb said he also has to use some of the FOJ fund for typical supplies.

His supply expenses totaled $5,802.48 in 2011.

“We spend a lot of money on supplies because we’re basically running a 500-resident hotel here (the jail) — you know how much we spend on toilet paper?”

But both Telb and Grey said they thought the auditor’s office should tighten the guidelines.

“There is no definition — it’s what I think is what’s in the furtherance of justice — and that’s where the problem lies,” Grey said. “I give Dave Yost a lot of credit for being willing to try to do this. FOJ has been around for a long time and it’s one of those things we cannot afford to lose, but people get in trouble because nobody would sit down and define it.”

Agency marks Child Abuse Prevention Month with several events

Lucas County Children Services (LCCS) has a reputation as “bad guys” and “baby snatchers,” but nothing could be farther from the truth, said the agency’s executive director Dean Sparks.

“Many in the community look at us almost as quasi-law enforcement. They expect us to go out in our vans, take kids away and then tell parents what they need to do to get them back, and if they don’t do it quickly enough they will never get them back,” Sparks said. “I’ve heard people say we get money from the federal government for every child we bring into our care. Not true. We don’t get any rewards for removing kids. Our No. 1 priority is keeping kids safe and helping parents take better care of their children.”

LCCS does not actually have the authority to remove a child from a home; only a law enforcement officer, magistrate or judge can do that, Sparks said.

Removing a child is also LCCS’s last resort. Whenever possible, children remain with their families or a relative while steps are taken to improve conditions.

“Less than 10 percent of kids we come in contact with are going to get removed,” Sparks said.

In 2011, LCCS received 4,148 referrals of suspected child abuse involving 6,046 children and discovered 587 area children were abused or neglected. Forty-nine percent of the investigations were for physical abuse, 36 percent for neglect, 14 percent for sexual abuse and 1 percent for emotional abuse.

Thirty-two percent of children served stayed in their own homes, 31 percent lived with a relative, 32 percent were placed in foster care and 5 percent went to a group home or private institution.

When responding to an allegation of abuse or neglect, caseworkers immediately do a safety assessment to make sure the child or children are safe. The assessment includes checking the home environment, evaluating caretakers, making sure basic needs are being met, checking if utilities are turned on and medical and educational needs are being met. Caseworkers also look for signs of physical hazards, substance abuse, violence and sexual abuse.

If any concerns are found, a meeting between the agency and the family is called to discuss the issues and give the family an opportunity to offer solutions before recommendations are made.

Over the past several years, LCCS has been transitioning to a response method called “differential response,” meaning that except in cases of sexual or serious physical abuse, the agency no longer identifies a perpetrator and a victim. Instead, LCCS engages the family in a discussion of concerns and works with them to find a suitable solution.

“For more than 76 percent of cases, we’re going through a kinder and gentler way of engaging families,” Sparks said. “Rather than substantiate whether or not an incident occurred, we want to look at the whole family and how it’s functioning, identify where the problems and difficulties are and come up with a plan to solve them, empowering the family to make changes. We don’t want to just go in and say, ‘This is what you have to do,’ which is what we did for many years.”

The meetings, which are typically held at the LCCS offices in Downtown Toledo where security is present if needed, range from civil to heated, said caseworker Shannon Keefer.

Click to enlarge

“You’re talking about the possibility of children being removed from parents, so you can’t deny it’s tense for every person sitting at the table,” Keefer said. “It’s very intense. Feelings and emotions are sky high, but you have to keep that under wraps. The bottom line is this is a very traumatic situation for all involved, especially the children. We have to do our best to keep that meeting decent and civilized in trying to keep those lines of communication open and being honest with each other about what’s going on.”

Some parents know they are overwhelmed and are actually grateful for the help, Sparks said.

“We do occasionally get people turning tables over, threatening, storming out, kicking doors and breaking them. They are not happy with us,” Sparks said. “But you’d be surprised how many parents say, ‘Yeah, I can’t handle this right now. I need help.’”

Keefer said one mother hugged her in court after a judge ordered her children removed from her care.

“The mom hugged me afterward and said, ‘Thanks,’” Keefer said. “I didn’t know what to do at that point. It shocked me.”

Giving back

Another agency imitative, which Keefer has been working on since July, is developing community programs such as the Parent Partnership Program.

“We partner with parents who have previously been through our system and are today doing well and are successful in their lives. Some have gotten their children back into their care, some have not, but they want to come back and volunteer and give back to parents currently going through system,” Keefer said. “It’s very powerful. I’ve learned so much from the parent partners, opening my eyes to what they’ve been through and what that’s really like on their end. I know I’m going to continue to look to them for advice and guidance about what we’re doing with the program and where it can and should go.”

One of the parent volunteers is Tim. About five years ago, when his two young sons were removed from his ex-wife’s care because of unsafe conditions at her home, he assumed he would be given custody.

Instead, the Toledo man, whose last name is omitted to protect the identity of his children, was told his history of domestic violence against his ex-wife was a safety concern and the boys were sent to live with relatives.

“I was upset and angry because I had always thought of myself as a good dad,” Tim said. “I had already raised three older children [from a previous marriage] and I thought my children should be home with me.

“I never believed I was guilty of domestic violence because I never put my hands on my ex-wife and I never hurt my children. I thought, ‘They eat every day, they’re clothed, they have a roof over their heads, they’re OK.’ But until I started going through some of the agency programs they requested I go to, I never saw the mental abuse my children went through on a daily basis.

“I used to raise my voice and holler and scream a lot, or block the door when someone wanted to leave because I still had something to say, which not only caused my wife to be afraid, it caused my children to be afraid. I always thought I was doing the right thing because after everybody calmed down, I would ask my kids, ‘Hey, you love me?’ Well, what else were they going to say? Of course they’re going to tell me they loved me.

“Going through the batterers intervention program, I realized there was a whole lot more to domestic violence, that I didn’t have to physically attack someone to be guilty and that I did in fact need the program. No one wants to admit as a parent they need to make some changes in their child’s life, in their own life, but to me that was the first step of healing.”

Tim, who also went to counseling and enrolled in parenting classes, was eventually awarded full custody of his sons. Today, he is a parent volunteer, helping to facilitate the agency’s six-week Building a Better Future workshop for parents who have had children removed from their home.

“Knowing they are still going through services, it’s a reward to be able to pull the parents aside and say, ‘I’ve been there, done that and this will help you out,’” Tim said. “If I can stop one other family from going through the turmoil I’ve been through and help them navigate through the system, I’m happy. I tell them the quicker you successfully complete these services being asked of you, the quicker you’re going to have your prize back, which is your children back in your home with you.”

Even though it’s easier to blame others, part of the healing process is learning to take responsibility for your actions, Tim said.

“I was probably one of the biggest, hardest knuckleheads out there. I didn’t think I needed these programs. I think the biggest thing for me to conquer was admitting it was a problem and claiming ownership of it,” Tim said. “I’d like all parents to claim responsibility that something happened in their life to cause [LCCS] to come out and remove their children. They don’t just go through a directory and say, ‘OK, let’s go take their kids.’ Whether it’s their fault or someone else’s fault, something happened to cause the agency to go out there in the first place.”

The agency’s hotline for reporting child abuse receives about 750 calls per month and 300 to 400 are investigated. Fifty-six percent of referrals come from “mandated reporters” within the community with the remainder coming from private or anonymous sources.

Tim said his past is always there as a reminder, but he prefers to focus on the future.

“My drive and the reason I do these programs is to remind myself of where I was at and where I want to be at,” Tim said. “I try not to dwell on the past things. They are always there as a reminder, but I just try to look toward the future and where my life’s going with my children now. They’re both doing great now and I’m doing great now. I can tell you today the agency will never have a reason to come out to my house or to tell me as a father I can’t have my children at home.”

April is National Child Abuse Prevention Month. Upcoming events include:.

“Wear Blue to Work Day” on April 11. “Each individual person makes the decision that morning to put on a blue shirt, but think about all the blue shirts together,” said LCCS Public Information Officer Julie Malkin. “If he wears a blue shirt, and she wears a blue shirt and I wear a blue shirt, we’re unified as a community against child abuse.” Area residents are also encouraged photograph a group of co-workers wearing the color and post it via social media.

LCCS and other agencies will present information at the “We Care About Our Kids: Community Forum on Child Sexual Abuse” at 6:30 p.m. April 18 at the University of Toledo Scott Park Campus. Admission is free.

A ceremony honoring local children who died as a result of street violence, abuse or neglect is 11:30 a.m. April 25 at the LCCS offices, 705 Adams St., Toledo. Since April 2011, no children have died in Lucas County from abuse or neglect, but Timothy Blair, 14, Deadrick Rocker, 17, and Montelle Taylor, 17, died as a result of violence. Lucas County has not had an abuse- or neglect-related death for about two years, Sparks said. Nationally, about five children a day and 1,700 per year die from abuse and neglect.

“Child abuse is preventable,” Sparks said. “If we work together we can stop it.”

Navarre to retire

Chief Mike Navarre of the Toledo Police Department announced his retirement Sept. 15 after 13 years of service as the chief and more than 30 years as an officer. Mayor Mike Bell appointed Asst. Chief Derrick Diggs to replace him, starting Oct. 21.

“This is a sad day and a great day at the same time,” Bell said at a news conference.

Chief Navarre said of his tenure, “This job has been very interesting, never boring.” He thanked former Mayor Carty Finkbeiner for appointing him in 1998 and also expressed gratitude for his police officers and members of staff.

He thanked his family, wife Julie and their four children, saying, “They really had to sacrifice over the years. There’s always that uncertainty when they [police] do that eight hour shift. Are they gonna come home?”

Although Navarre insisted that the day was really about Diggs, Diggs said the same of Navarre. Both Navarre and Diggs joined the department in 1977. The two first met in a boxing session when they were in police academy and Navarre joked that he had won.

“It’s his day and we’ll let him tell the story he wants to tell,” Diggs joked. He declined to reveal his new agenda, but did say, “There are plans in place. They are very ambitious and very bold.”

Bell emphasized that Navarre was “not being booted out. He’s being timed out.” Navarre said he agreed on his retirement date eight years ago.

“I’m ready to move on. I think the department’s ready to move on,” Navarre said. He said he will devote the next five weeks to a smooth transition for Diggs. After the transition, he plans to remodel his house and spend more time in Florida with his family.

“You were our guy,” Lucas County Sheriff James Telb said. “It didn’t take long before you were flying by yourself.” A former teacher to Navarre, Telb credited Navarre with helping install the countywide communication system for area safety officials, what he called, “absolutely the best in the nation.”

9/11: Officials remember events of Sept. 11, 2001

On Sept. 11, 2001, State Sen. Edna Brown, then a Toledo city councilwoman, was going to celebrate her grandson’s 10th birthday.

Brown, Lucas County Commissioner Pete Gerken (then councilman) and Lucas County Commissioner Tina Skeldon Wozniak (then councilwoman) were all up for re-election in a primary that day.

Former Gov. Bob Taft was driving to work with a state trooper while Gov. John Kasich had been on a corporate conference call since 4 a.m.

“I remember how blue the sky was, how bright the sun was,” said Mayor Mike Bell, then the city’s fire chief.

And then terrorists flew a plane into the World Trade Center. It was no longer just a primary, just a beautiful day, just a birthday, just a Tuesday. It was 9/11.

Gerken

Like so many others, Gerken turned on the TV.

“I thought I had the movie channel on and not the news,” he said.

“It was one of those things, you want to make sure where everyone was but you’re also fixated on watching,” said Congressman Bob Latta, then a representative.

Gerken immediately called his son, who was in Washington, D.C., during the attacks, while current Lucas County Commissioner Carol Contrada’s daughter called from Vermont to inform her of the events.

“We watched the event unfold together on the phone, consoling each other,” said Contrada, an attorney.

Wozniak, along with a campaign worker for her opponent and a woman neither had met before, bonded while huddling around a TV. Wozniak and the worker were campaigning at a Washington Local school when “a woman across the street called, ‘Would you like to see what’s happening?’” The pair went into the woman’s home to watch the news coverage on her TV.

“There were no barriers, no differences. We basically bonded,” Wozniak said.

Safety officials

Meanwhile, then-Mayor Carty Finkbeiner called safety officials Bell, Lucas County Sheriff James Telb and Toledo Police Chief Mike Navarre to his office to develop a plan. Telb remembered being told not to worry about overtime and extra personnel.

Finkbeiner said his two main concerns were keeping Muslims and foreign residents safe from retaliation as well as keeping city locations like the water treatment center, The University of Toledo and The Toledo Museum of Art secure.

“That led to decade-long intensive planning. And that’s what we’ve been doing ever since,” Telb said.

In addition to getting grants for new equipment, Lucas County and surrounding counties have gained access to a radio system that allows all responders to be on one channel in case of an attack, Telb said, adding, “It’s still state of the art. People still want to match it.”

Police and hospital officials also began talking to each other to develop plans in case of future attacks. Before 9/11, “Nobody ever talked to the hospital. No one in law enforcement did that,” Telb said.

Bell was subsequently appointed chairman of the Joint Regional Terrorism Task Force, which included about 30 officials from surrounding counties and parts of Michigan. Following the attacks, people frequently reported low-flying planes that were just checking on power lines, in addition to anthrax scares.

Bell sent 12 firefighters to New York City to help, while the Toledo City Police sent six officers and the Sheriff’s Office sent five officers.

Mayor Mike Bell

“It actually shocked them and these were some pretty tough people,” Bell said of the firefighters he sent to Ground Zero.

Kasich told Toledo Free Press he went to Ground Zero on Sept. 20, 2001, as part of his show “Heroes” on FOX News Channel. He recalled the eerie quietness and observing searchers: “They had big, long sound detectors. They’d make their way across the site, listening for people who had been trapped.”

One man, a retired fire chief, had been at the site every day since the attack because he believed his two sons were caught in the rubble.

“He looked at me and said, ‘My boys are going to come out of there.’ And, of course, in terms of probability, they wouldn’t,” Kasich said. Kasich’s New York office with Lehman Brothers was destroyed in the attacks, although Kasich said he didn’t spend a lot of time there.

Kasich said the death of his parents, killed by a drunken driver in 1987, helped him relate to victims’ families.

“I myself have been in a situation where I’ve experienced that black hole of sudden death,” he said. “While I understand it may not be exactly the same, I can relate to them.”

In Columbus

Taft said he continued to work at the Riffe State Office Tower in Columbus that day.

“I wanted to get into the office, follow the events and do what needed to be done,” Taft said to Toledo Free Press.

He didn’t recall any communication from Washington, D.C. on Sept. 11, 2001, but figured an attack on Ohio was unlikely.

“Most of the news was coming from the media,” Taft said. “I think they were still trying to figure it out in Washington.”

The next day, Taft did hear from the White House about 9/11.

He said he continued to hear about the events of that day for the rest of his term.

“No single event while I was governor was more powerful,” Taft said.

After learning of the attacks during an early meeting, then-Lucas County Commissioner Sandy Isenberg sent nonessential county workers home. Isenberg and Finkbeiner held a press conference with officials on the steps of One Government Center.

“If you’ve got a picture of the newsreel, I was up there crying, trying to keep a calm demeanor,” Isenberg said.

Finkbeiner did not send city officials home and continued to hold meetings and conferences throughout the week, he said.

The primary elections also stayed open that day, in what Gerken called “the best way to keep democratic values alive.”

The attacks, including a third plane flown into the Pentagon and a fourth that passengers took over and crashed into a Pennsylvania field, changed not only government policy, but also politicians’ personal views.

“It’s a game-changer when something like that happens. It resets your thinking,” said Representative Barbara Sears, then a Sylvania city councilwoman.

Lucas County Recorder Jeanine Perry, then a representative, recalled a state trooper checking her and about four fellow representatives’ bags following the attacks. The trooper leaned over State Sen. Shirley Smith’s (then representative) large bag and she yelled, “BOO!” causing the trooper to jump back. Instead of getting angry, “he laughed, and we laughed and that was the first time in weeks that we laughed. It just changed the atmosphere and environment,” Perry said.

Aftermath

The aftermath of the attacks “probably will be with us until the end of light on this earth,” Finkbeiner said.

To commemorate the attacks, he said he will likely visit those steps he spent so much time on at One Government Center “to remember how we all came together.”

Church leaders and police, fire and safety personnel have been invited to sound their bells and sirens at 1 p.m., Bell said.

After the polls were closed that day and the campaign was over, Brown went to see her grandson.

“I did go by to see my grandson and he was puzzled and wanted to know why it happened on his birthday,” she said.

While many things changed that day, some things remain the same as life continues on.

Brown said of her Sept. 11 plans this year, “My grandson, of course, is older but I will celebrate his birthday with him.”